LANDSCAPES and 
WATERSCAPES 

By LOTTIE SCHOOLCRAFT FELTER 




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..'Yof GONGHESB 
Two Oopies Received 

DEC 22 1SC3 

Copyright Entry 
JUSS ^ XXc, -No. 

COPY #. 



Copyright, 1908 
By LOTTIE SCHOOLCRAFT FELTER 



PRESS OF 
CANON CITY, COLO., RECORD 



DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTER 

NELDA 

WHO HAS HELPED TO MAKE 



"Life worth living 

And Love worth giving. " 



Index. 



Don't Wait 7 

A Dream Picture 8 

Dot. Babe of Mine 10 

The Abandoned Camp 11 

Worth While 16 

Our Level 17 

Rushing Along 18 

Our Uncle Ike 21 

In the Royal Gorge 24 

The Perfect Prayer 26 

Phosphoresence 29 

Mind Yo' Mammy 30 

The Cry of the Poor 31 

The Season i, . . . 33 

A Pathway 34 

I Wish I'd Gone to Bed 36 

Cure the Blues 39 

If I Had Known 41 

Her Dilemma 43 

Content 45 

His Request 47 

Imogene 49 

At the Mourner's Bench 51 

Which One Shall It Be 52 

Power 54 

A Boy's Fun 55 

The Sigh of the Civilized Navajo 61 



Let the Children Play 90 

Deacon Harvey and His Dream 93 

Struggles 99 

Keep Up Courage Jim 101 

Fossil 104 

Submission 105 

Waiting 106 

Better Day Ahead 108 

Sympathy 110 

Misunderstood 112 

Our Country 113 

Mercies 115 

Art 116 

Stimulation 117 

A Problem 119 



Don't Wait. 



Don't wait until your head be garlanded 
With hoariness — your steps infirm have grown, 

And then alas! awaken to the truth 
That life's great opportunities have flown. 

Don't wait until the coffin's lid has closed 
Upon the childish, dear, angelic brow, 

Ere you caress, press closely to your heart 
And utter loving words; perform it now. 

Don't wait until the multitudes admire, 
And unassumingly with pride proclaim 

The brilliant genius of some fellow man 
Acknowledge him and help create his fame. 

Don't wait until the autumn leaves have left 
The tree forlorn to wither on the gound, 

And then appreciate the hours of rest 
Which peacefully within its shade you found. 

Don't wait until your brother sinks in shame 
Past all redemption, wallowing in sin; 

Keep him from falling, words of friendship speak, 
Approach him while there's manhood yet within. 

Don't wait until your best activities 
Are spent, and disappointments come apace, 

Then but to fling the remanant of your days 
Disgracefully into your Maker's face. 



A Dream Picture. 



It was early haying time, when the clover smelled 

so sweet; 
And the blossoms made it seem that heaven was down 

about our feet; 
And the green around about us made our hearts 

within us glad; 
As we drove the lazy cows to pasture, Oh, what fun 

we had! 



Then the birdies yearly held, 'Old Settlers' meetings 

in the trees, 
And the leaves and branches echoed forth their 

merry jubilees, 
Till the woods were all alive; and they seemed 

merrier that we, 
An audience, so harmlessly enjoyed their company. 

Then the bitter windfalls, dropping prematurely 

from the bough, 
Tasted sweeter to our palate, than the choicest 

Pippin now. 
And the branch of oak or hickory, on which we sat 

astride, 
Was a richly cushioned carriage, in which we as 

kings did ride, 



In fancy, through the tree tops, o'er all nature 

holding sway, 
Just as some would rule the hearts they come in 

contact with today. 
Those kaleidoscopic peepshows, glass, with flowers 

in between, 
Were fairer to our vision than the finest painted 

scene. 

Our sleep beneath the rafters, in the happy days of 

old, 
Was sweet, while glints of morning sunshine amber, 

red and gold, 
Stole through the time stained shingles, in gleames 

about our beds, 
While plans of youthful greatness flitted through our 

youthful heads. 

Juvenile imagination, spread her charm upon the 

whole; 
Made the bitter fruit taste sweeter, stirred emotions 

in the soul. 
Realization drowns the fancy, else we might live on 

always 
Hoping, dreaming, blowing bubbles, as we did in 

childhood days. 



10 



Dot Babe of Mine. 



And when dot babe he smiles so sweet, 
And dimples so from head to feet. 
And laughs clear down into his thumbs 
Den vat you tink? Mine frau she comes 
And says "Hans, only come and see 
How much dot babe resembles me. 
The darling, darling little elf! 
He's the very image of myself!" 

But ven dot babe he seems possessed, 
And howls and howls his level best, 
And colors like a Wienerwurst; 
And frightens us — we're sure he'll burst — 
And screams and paws the air like mad; 
And throws himself (Oh he's so bad!) 
Then frau she says, "Look quick, Hans, do, 
How much dot babe resembles you!" 



11 



The Abandoned Camp. 

You wish to view the last remains of a mortality? 

To ^yonder lone deserted camp then please accom- 
pany me. 

Prospectors swore, by heaven, they'd struck an ever- 
lasting vein — 

A living fount that would endure as long as stars 
remain. 



But now the lights have disappeared and all is 

desolate 
And dark, where once the children sang and danced, 

with merry prate, 
Around the blazing hearthstone fire whose lights and 

shadows played 
Upon the wall so fairy like, wild shouts and laughter 

made 



The evening air at sunset ring with youthful life, 

which then 
Annoyed us so we sought to hush. O for those 

shouts again, 
To wake to life this sepulchre! O, for the dizzy din, 
The urchins' cry, the bark of dogs, to breathe new 

life within! 



12 

Could we have seen, as Calvin claims, his maker only 

can, 
The end from the beginning, (but that's forbidden 

man) 
We might thereby have spared ourselves much 

trouble and expense, 
By hiding not within the ground our talents, pounds 

and pence. 



Those empty, cheerless windows, like hollow sad- 
dened eyes, 

Which gleam at us reproachfully, but seem to em- 
phasize 

The adage old but true, "There's much in life is spent 
for naught." 

Experience is often at a double premium bought. 

Once let a golden fever rage — there's no immunity — 

The whole creation's out to catch this opportunity. 



And, judging from the prospect holes spread here 

and there around, 
As though a gopher colony had homesteaded the 

ground, 
'Twould seem that no one loses aim, like he who's 

hunting ore, 
The oftener he loses only crazes him the more. 



13 

But then, to take another view, though it's a game of 

chance, 
Some one must do the guessing, in order to advance; 
For richest veins lie buried deep, and he who finds 

must seek 
For wealth of Anaconda, Creed, Miaz or Cripple 

Creek. 



Those 'empty stores, which glittered once, stand 

mockingly and grin; 
Pulsation gone, their lives ebbed out, and windows 

battered in. 
Pray Where's the elf that can desist from slinging 

missies through 
A ghoulish, unused window pane? It's natural as for 
you, 



When a grassy, velvet, lawn spreads out before you 

as you pass, 
With flowers so sweet and fragrant, and a sign, 

"Keep off the Grass," 
To itch and ache desparingly, to just get down and 

roll 
And sprawl and toss and tumble there regardless of 

the toll. 



The coiiaoernation and dismay (of course 'twas laid 

to luck) 
Which seized that crew, when it w^" learned the 

bottom had been struck! 



14 

A few had felt forebodings queer of a financial crash, 
And had gathered up their personals and turned 
them into cash; 



For the horseshoe would come tumbling from its- 

place above the door; 
The sky appeared blood red at night with many 

omens more; 
But the many had invested every dollar they were 

worth ; 
Their hopes, their aims and incomes now lie buried 

in the earth. 



And the beaten path extending from the shafting to 

the town, 
O'er which the men with dinner pails at night came 

hurrying down, 
Looks lonely and forosaken and the grass begins to 

creep, 
Concealing half the footpath ('tis enough to make 

one weep.) 



Twice scared seemed the tie which bound this hardy 

mining crew; 
They shard each others pleasures, crude and sorrows 

not a few. 
In sickness or misfortune dire each brother lent a 

hand; 
But now they're scattered far and wide all o'er this 

western land. 



15 

The gloom of death falls over me; the scene is 

hopeless quiet; 
I'll wander back to living lands and drive it from 

my sight. 
And bequeath the worthless title to, perhaps the 

rightful heirs; 
The wolves and mountain lions may reclaim it now 
«. as theirs. 



16 



Worth While. 



To have a friend whose heart is true, 
Who thoroughly believes in you, 
Though seldom outward word be spoken, 
(Silence is oft' a friendly token) 

Makes life worth living 

And love worth giving. 

To know a spirit touches mine, 
To feel soft baby arms entwine 
About my neck, with head close pressed 
In trustfulness against my breast, 

Makes life worth living 

And love worth giving. 

But to have felt love's thrilling dart, 
When wooed and won by other heart, 
— Though intervening years there be — 
Surely the blissful memory 

Makes life worth living 

And love worth giving. 



17 



Our Level. 



We stand on the threshold of fame 

With the latch almost raised in our fingers, 
(Ah that fatal almost! we exclaim) 

But fear irresistibly lingers 
And points out a happier way. 

One moment we hesitate whether 
To refuse or accept, then away 

We and failure saunter together. 

Great fortunes lie just within touch, 
And urge with their cry "Now or Never!" 

But doubt draws us back in its clutch, 
And fortune has vanished forever. 

And were they so near when withdrawn 
These objects of sumptuous plunder? 

Would not the same doubt later on, 
Have caused us to waver we wonder? 

Though 'tis hard to acknowledge 'tis so, 

Perhaps we are filling, the places 
Not many gradations below 

The one our efficiency graces; 
Or firmly our wills would protest 

Till we severed these bonds that chagrin us; 
'Tis by doing we surely attest 

There is greatness of spirit within us. 



18 



Rushing Along. 

Out from our babyhood's playthings and toys — 
Light little sorrows and light little joys — 
Sorrows that cause us one moment to weep, 
Next, but forgotten in babyland sleep; , 

Joys that soon pass in the life just begun, 
Cooings and kisses and froliesom fun. 
Thus we pass out from our babyhood days, 
Into our girlhood's more serious ways. 

Troubles that seem later on only slight, 

Gloomy appear as the shadows of night. 

Slights from some schoolfellow thoughtless and vain, 

It seems that we'd never forgive him again; 

Aches that impatience says never will end 

Broken affections that never will mend; 

Yes. but they do very shortly; and soon 

All is as clear as the sunshine at noon. 

Troubles and slights in a day have all vanished 

Aches are forgotten and jealousies banished. 

Joy rushes in, and what equals the joy 

Of youth bubbling over in girl or in boy? 

Catching the bird's sweetest music of heaven, 

Rambling in meadows from morning till even. 

Later along and a new kind of pleasure 

Fills us and thrills us, Oh joy beyond measure! 

Waiting in hopefulness now for a lover, 

Heaven lies wrapped in a four leafed clover; 



19 

Moonlight and stars whisper tales in the ear 
Only for me and one other to hear. 
Coals in the grate tell a wonderful tale 
Of castles and fortunes that never shall fail. 
Thus we emerge from our sweet vision days 
Into our womanhood's practical ways. 

Day dreams are realized, visions fulfilled, 
Not airy castles but homes now to build. 
Friendships so firm that nothing can sever; 
Hatreds so bitter they rankle forever, 
Leaving their impress, life's beauty to mar 
In wounds that forever must leave a deep scar. 
Patience eternal now helps us endure 
Illness of spirit no doctor can cure. 
Fancies have flown from the red coals of fire, 
Now it is only the cheer we admire. 
Moonlight and stars are effects of a cause 
Found in astronomy's natural laws; 
Not in possession of lover or king, 
Fairy, hobgoblin or that sort of thing. 
Love in reality reigneth supreme 
Only so different from that of our dream. 
Duties not numbered on earth are begun — 
Stop to look back and old age rushes on. 
Out from our womanhood's practical ways 
Into old age with its fast fleeting days. 

Living again over what we have been, 

Happiness woven in stretches between; 
Memory friends oft' revisit again, 
The new only seek our acquaintance in vain. 
Hanpy the one who can sweetly recall 



20 

Memories of peace and good will towards all. 
Doing the odds and the ends here and there 
Lightening for others their burdens of care; 
Willing if need be to lay this life down, 
Looking ahead to a heaven and crown. 
Thus we pass out; our existence is o'er, 
Save by a few, we're remembered no more. 
Our places are filled by the mad, anxious throng 
Hurrying, scurrying, rushing along . 



21 



Our Uncle Ike. 



Our uncle Ike's the funniest fellow, 
His beard's a sort of yellow-dog yellow; 
The hairs are thin and strewed about, 
He says "The soil underneath's worn out; 
I'll fertilize it some of these days 
And then what a roarin' crop I'll raise! 
Laws-a-days! 

What a crop 111 raise!" 

He sets out on our porch and jokes, 
And holds us on his lap and smokes. 
His head is bald as a turtle's back 
And his eyes seem peering through a crack. 
The one eye's blue and tother'n's gray 
"The Lord didn't make 'm that there way" 
He'd say. "Some day 

I'll tell you why that un's gray." 

"One night while settin' here" he said 
"The mosquitoes settled on my head — 
A swarm of them began to skate 
And sasha round on this bald pate. 
'How fortunate!' they cried 'Just think! 
We've found a glorious skating rink. 
I Jink! 

What a skating rink!'" 



22 

'Twas fun to see these insects race, 
Didn't they go a merry pace? 

My lids and eyeballs fairly clattered 
And my four old stubby teeth they chattered. 
It might be worse, I said — Gee Whizz! 
Let youngsters have what fun there is. 
Gee Whizz! 

Give 'em all there is! 

At last one dainty little thing 
Caught her toe in a raveling 
And fell — it almost broke a rafter 
When all the Jills came tumbling after. 
The outcome was a broken wing 
All on account of that raveling. 
Poor thing! 

With the broken wing! 

You don't believe a word I've said? 
Just feel 'this dent on my bald head. 
Nov/ girls I warn you, every one, 
Don't let yer mending go undone. 
A girl once fell through a hole in her stocking 
And never's been heard of since. How shocking! 
Oh that stocking! 

'n that girl! How shocking! 

Always reck'n yer blessings first 
And then be thankful for the worst," 
He'd say: at dinner once he found 
A lettuce worm meandering round 
And said "Thank God! Ameriky 
's the place where extrys come in free! 
Ameriky! 

The land of the free!" 



23 

"D'ye see that star up in the sky 
With all her young uns standing by 
A bawlin' for a slice of cheese, 
Cut off'n the yellow moon? Once these 
Were rings whirled off'n the sides of their 

mother 
— Say, you're jest rings twirled off'n another 
'n that other 

's yer own good mother.. 

"Uncle Ike, where's your little rings?" Tot 

cried; 
"Up here in my brain," he said and sighed, 
While a tear stole softly down his cheek. 
They say, that regular, every week, 
He walks to the cemetery alone 
And sits by a grave with a marble stone, 
All gray and mildewed — he scarce can see 
To read the name thereon — "Marie" 
Only "Marie" 

Of sweetheart memory. 



24 



In the Royal Gorge. 

(A Symphony) 
The stream comes rushing down the gorge; 

The eddies trickle, bubble, boil, 
Then tumble headlong o'er the rocks 

With anxious speed, in mad turmoil. 
The din appears like myriads 

Of notes chaotic, loud they roll; 
Stand still O moon in Ajelon! 

It blends to one harmonious whole. 

Above the roar, a soothing sound 

I hear — so musical, so deep, 
As 'twere some mother's hushaby, 

Lulling her infant babe to sleep. 
Ah! this the sound, which long ago 

The voice of One was likened to! 
Pathetic, awful, grand, sublime! 

So animated, yet so true! 

My thoughts glide on in unison, 

But love and harmony are here; 
Impelled by some commanding power, 

The baser feelings disappear. 
Majestic trees stand on the brink; 

With branches nodding low, they seem 
As though about to take a drink; 

The air comes floating down the stream. 



25 

Then leaves and branches catch the breeze, 

Clasped in each other's arms, they fain 
Would sing and love their lives away 

In concord with the river's strain. 
United thus the chorus swells; 

They chant their anthem loud and long — 
A unity of waves and trills 

And cadences, a happy throng. 

A little farther down the stream, 

A bridge, the rushing waters span — 
Surely exempt from nature's laws 

—Vulgar, made by the hand of man. 
And as it in suspension swings, 

With impulse but to creak and groan, 
A vigor, irresistible, 

Lays hold and modulates it's tone. 

O'er-powered, obedient it sways, 

Meek and submissive as a child, 
It's discords quelled, with nature it 

Vibrates in modulations mild. , 

With increased strength they sweep along, 

And, like the whirlwind in its course, 
They grasp by suction all things near, 

Augmenting ever thus their force. 

'Tis one harmonious union this 

A thousand voices that agree 
Ten thousand harpstrings play at once, 

Making a heavenly symphony. 



26 



The Perfect Prayer. 



"Our Father who in heaven art," 
In pure and sweet simplicity, 

Was lisped by infant innocence 
While kneeling at a mother's knee. 



And "Hallowed be Thy Holy name," 
And then she slept well satisfied. 

No doubt is there within that heart 
Whose childlike faith has ne'er been tried. 



The years roll rapidly along; 

This child has entered maidenhood; 
And, as she listens to the cry 

Of one from o'er the sea who would 



The heaven save, her heart is stirred: 
She cries "Forgive this careless one 

Her selfishness within the past; 

Thy kingdom come through Thy dear Son! 



And later on with that home 

The lights gleam forth and brightly burn, 
As this fair maiden plights her vows 

To one who offers in return 



27 

A manly love, a noble heart, 
Two years roll on of happiness 

That only wedded love can know — 
In love all else must acquiesce. 



Ah then! 'tis evening once again. 

Hush! low and solemn is the tread. 
The tapers in that home burn low, 

And watchers sit beside the bed. 



In agony the wife stands o'er 

And wipes the death-damp from his brow. 
His soul is passing — all is o'er — 

Say, where, Oh where, is comfort now? 



Day after day this widowed heart 
Struggles for grace — poor sorrowing one! 

Night after night she kneels in prayer 
Ere she can say "Thy will be done." 



Of strong support thus soon bereft, 
Out in the world with weary tread 

She goes; and earnestly she prays 
"Give us this day our daily bread.' 



Seeking for virtue to destroy, 
Lewd fiendish eyes they ever glare. 

"Into temptation lead us not" 

Trusting she breathes her evening prayer. 



28 

And then she sleeps an angels sleep; 

No harm can come to one who trusts 
Her soul and life into His hands; 

She's saved from sin, its snares, its lusts. 



Old age comes creeping on apace, 
The thread of life is nearly spun; 

She's only waiting for the crown 

Of life when this her life work's done. 



Sweetly she lays her armor down, 
Her eyelids close and all is o'er. 

"Thine is the kingdom, Thine the power, 
In heaven and earth forever more." 



NOTE— Written after hearing a sermon by Evangelist 
Northcutt. 



29 



Phosphorescence. 

Some lives are little more or less 

Than phosphorescence on decay 
Which, even from its funeral pile, 
Emits a ghastly light the while 

That lures its victim to excess, 

Until he soon succumbs a prey 
To poison from this foul decay. 



30 



Mind Yo' Mammy. 



Titus, stand back 
Off'n dat track! 

Dat heavy freight 
'11 operate 
On yo' insides fo' appendicitis, 
If you don't mind yo' mammy, Titus. 
Jest seen dat smoke; it's most nigh heah; 
Yo' mouf's so wide dat engineeah 
'11 take it fo' de roundhouse doah, 
And smash right in pelmel, fo' shoah. 
When it gits in, 
Ah reck'n yo'll grin 

Wider 'n you hoped; 
You'll be telescoped, 
Out o' yo' skin 
Clean to yo' chin. 

Same day'll come out 
Specials about 
Dat dreadful railroad accident. 
And when de claim adjuster's sent 
And all de passengers come to, 
And ask fo' damages, then yo' 
Jest won't be theyah 
To get yo' shaah. 

Honey, stand back 
Off'n dat track! 



31 



The Cry of the Poor. 



Weary are we 

Of life's penury; 
Weary of toiling mid sunshine and heat, 
Scanty the recompense, scanty our meat; 

In this land of the free, 

Of proud liberty, 
May the children of plenty in luxury roll 
While the children of toil hunger bodv and soul? 



Weary we are 

Of uncertainty, 
Hoping, yet knowing not whether tomorrow 
Brings limited plenty or hunger and sorrow. 

We live and grope on 

Toil and hope on 
For surely a provident loving Creator 
Will divide each his portion, sooner or later. 



32 

How to endure? 

Where is the cure 
That will strike to the root of this national cancer? 
Where the philosopher wise that can answer? 

Who then can quiet 

The bloodshed and riot 
Of men crazed with hunger defying the rule? 
These are some of the questions not studied in school. 



33 



The Season. 



Now Chloe, I said 

Don't go and wed 
That trifling Schmidt who sits there sunning 
Against the wall, or I'll go gunning. 

Next day a note 
Arrived, which made my senses float. 

Here's what she wrote: 



"Dear Pa: I'm married; 

Don't you be worried; 
I never thought of marrying Schmidt 
Till you yourself suggested it. 

Well, it is done; 
The hunting season's just begun, 

So get your gun." 



34 



A Pathway. 



Come stroll down the pathway with me as of old 
On a morning in June and its raptures behold. 
The prairie chick cooes his ker-thud-oo-oo-oo! 
Like no other sound mortal man ever knew; 
A mixture so strange both the sad and the gay 
Floating out on the air, near, then far far away. 
A pheasant scared up from her nest in the grass 
Goes whirring away out of sight as I pass. 



The air is refreshing, the dewdrops they glisten, 
So quiet it is that Tm sure if you'll listen, 
You'll find that the dewdrops and grasses are talking 
Or hear the light steps of the brownies out walking. 
Oh the smell of the bees and the grass and the flowers! 
And the light, did I say? chasing off the dark hours? 
There's a well — nothing more than a hole in the 

ground 
With a barrel to keep it from sprawling around — 



35 

But over the edge of the well I can see 
The happiest eyes fairly sparkling at me; 
A hat with a third of the rim, perhaps more, 
Haggled off; and a face I've seen somewhere before. 
There's a background of daintiest, delicate blue — 
Can it be that the well extends clear down through 
The dark earth to the sunshine again? There he goes! 
Mister frog with a splashy-ty-splash by my nose 



With his carcass right into the well — but no matter — 
They say that a frog only purifies water, 
Devouring the wigglers, the fishworms, and flies. 
Oh it's fun to sit watching the air bubbles rise! 
Yes I might chatter heedlessly on in this way, 
What's the use? You cannot understand what I say. 
That was long years ago but I cannot retrain 
From telling it over and over again. 



36 



I Wish I'd Gone to Bed. 



Once our big girls had company, 
Come in and bring their m'broidery work, 
And stay, like farm folks do, for tea; 
And it just up and poured till dark, 
'Zif the sky'd broke loose. 
'Twas a good excuse; 

So they stayed l11 night 
And said I might 
Set up a while, an hour or two. 
And of all the foolery they went through. 
Their goblin stories made a chill 
Crawl up my back; 
And the stars look black; 

And my eyes to swim; 
And the lights grow dim. 
They simpered and whispered and then kept still, 
Till I could hear, 
The ghosts right near, 

With patter of hoof, 
Up on our roof. 
Then how I wished, and wished, instead 
Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. 



37 

And one big girl, Moll Perkins, she 

Went on to tell, how one dark night, 
As she went by the cemetery, 

A scary thing, all dressed in white, 
Was walkin' about 
With arms stretched out 
Among the stones 

A utterin' groans. 
And then it made a dive at her, 
And she lit out for home, yes sir, 

Pell mell! and reached, there scared to death, 
And fainted dead 
Away, she said 

In some one's arm; 
And they had to warm 
Some flat ir'ns to fetch back her breatli. 
And then my hair 
Stood up with scare, 
For I could see 
That thing grab me. 
Then how I wished, and wished, instead 
Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. 



One said (she hoped to die right there 

If it want true) that while a sittin' 
One evenin' in the rockin' chair, 

Close by the window, busy knittin', 
A bird came "Tat! 
Rat— tat! Rat— tat!" 

Three times again 
The window pane; 



38 

And that very minit (I know she lied) 
Her grandma in New Jersey died; 
And that was a sort of warning sent. 
And she just thought, 
'At that was what 

The po'm meant 
'Bout the pigeon sent, 
And the lost Lenore 
And never more — 
Though I couldn't tell what on earth she meant. 
And I felt so queer, 
For I could hear 

That bird again 
At the window pane, 
A peckin' so bold. 
And I couldn't have told 
Myself from you, 
Or black from blue. 
Then how I wished, and wished, instead 
Of settin' up I'd gone to bed. 



39 



Cure the Blues. 

Take advice and cure the blues, do, 
Or they'll shamefully abuse you. 



Go out boating on the river. 
Look the action of the liver. 

Court a little if it pleases, 

Cure's not worse than the disease is. 

Seize your knitting or crocheting, 
Count the stitches over saying, 

One — two — three — sure apathetic, 
Sleep in nature's anaesthetic 

Visit some one ten times sicker 

Than you are — read of Wakefield's Vicar, 

Poor old Vicar! O so sad O! 
Your calamity's only a shadow. 

Read Napoleon's fatal muster, 
Dreadful fate of General Custer, 



40 

Till your blood it curdles, thickens, 
That may fail? Then go with Dickens' 

Little Nell out walking, straying, 

In green fields like lambkins playing. 

Muse on bliss of heaven above; 
Next thing to it fall in love; 

Venus' rapturous idea 
May be just your panacea. 

One of these may fail to cure you, 
Try another one it's sure to. 

Take advice and cure the blues, do, 
Or they'll shamefully abuse you. 



41 



If I Had Known. 



If I had known 
She came to school without her morning meal, 
That it was hunger's pain she would conceal, 

I would have shown 

More kindness by 
Dividing — yes by giving all my meat — 
That she might have enough for once to eat 

To satisfy. 



If I had known 
That when we played off by ourselves apart, 
The slight had sent a shiver to her heart, 

I would have gone 

To her and said 
"Do come we need just one to make the game." 
Then how she would have smiled with cheeks aflame. 

But now she's dead. 



42 

If I had known 
She was an orphan girl; and that her tears 
And sad faced looks belonged to older years, 

I would have thrown 

My arms around 
Her neck, and, in a kind and loving way, 
Have said those tender things that mothers say 

To ease her wound. 



43 



Her Dilemma. 



You've heard me mention Uncle Tim 

Who married my aunt Lovine, 
He'd mourned three previous partners 

So she stood fourth in line; 
But he urged her when she came to die 

To drop her old maid's whim 
Of being laid, by an old sweeheart 

And rest wife like by him. 



So she gave in and was interred 

By him as number four, 
And her dilemma puzzles me 

As I ponder it o'er and o'er; 
For when the final trump shall blow, 

What scrambling there will be, 
As each presents her warranty deed 

At heaven's chancery. 



44 

If the last on earth shall then be first, 

I reckon that aunt Lovine 
Will find some bit of comfort then 

In ranking first in line. 
But I dislike family skirmishes 

And wish in my soul that she 
For the sake of peace were buried in 

Some other cemetery. 



45 



Content. 

Give me content enough 
But just enough to east the strife, 
The rasping useless fretfulness 
And smooth the corners rough. 
Enough to fairly estimate, 
That on the average, this life 
Is kind, and sends us less 
To severely vex and irritate, 
And more to benefit 
Than many will admit. 

But who would care 

To crave that idolent content, 

Which idly drifts him down the stream 

With arms akimbo floating o'er 

In ease and asking nothing more, 

Like drift wood landing where 'tis sent, 

With not a care — 

Existence but a hazy dream. 

Yes better far is restlessness, 

A sprinkling of that discontent 

Which scorns to be well satisfied 

With just what falls within the hands 

Or drops upon the lap; 

But makes more strenuous demands 

And ventures into ways untried. 

It bravely dares mishap 

And faces grim discouragements; 

'Tis only thus that worlds progress. 



46 

And he who opens up a path 
Diverging from the beaten track 
O'er which the multitude has trod — 
A better way — 'tis he that hath 
Improved conditions brought men back 
To nature and to nature's God. 



47 



His Request. 



De docto's held a consultation 
And Ah'm to have an operation 
Yo' eyes is gettin' drippin' wet — 
Lize 'taint time fo' weepin' yet. 
Ah've been a Christian all my life, 
Now promise me fo' ce'tain, wife, 
You'll have me opened up with pray'ah. 
An' have'm operate with ca'ah; 
Faith without works is like de brass 
Of chandeliers wivout de gas. 



An' if de docto's search me through 
An' don't find what dey 'spected to, 
Like postmen do, you have'm take 
A label— "Opened By Mistake"— 
An' paste it on whe'eh all can see, 
Dat's what Ah call Christ yanity. 
Dis foolin' people haint quite right 
Aspecially in bwoad daylight. 
Dese wisdom docto's Ah'd steer shy of; 
Ah like to know what Ah'm to die of. 



48 

An* if Ah don't pull through, then honey, 
You take my life insu'ance money 
An' blow in every cent of it 
On feathers' an' fine clothes what fit — 
Red o' whatever's handsomest — 
What suits yo' chocolate face de best. 
You've skimped along all yo' bawn life; 
An' yo've been a mighty faithful wife. 
Ah'm wuth a heap mo' dead (in money) 
Than evah Ah was livin', honey. 



Lize yo' teahs is spillin' down, 
On to yo' Sunday meetin' gown. 
If you don't stop, it won't be fit 
To wa'ah to ch'uch, yo' spilin' it. 



49 



Imogene. 



She's a common looking girl, 

Hair a fady tan and brown, 
Bristly straight, without a curl, 

Freckled face and eyes cast down — 
Always looking down at earth 

She was hapless from her birth. 
Imogene, 
Some ill-fated star is seen 
Hovering o'er you, Imogene. 

When she went to public school, 

Everything abject and mean, 
Thieving, lying, breaking rule, 

All were laid on Imogene. 

She sought comfort in her books, 

To evade their scornful looks. 

Imogene, 

Though your sould be white and clean, 
You're suspicioned Imogene. 

Each might bring — by strict permission- 

A baby brother or a sister; 
It was mid-day intermission; 

One wee toddler they had missed her. 
Look, out there upon the street 
Underneath the horses feet! 

Imogene, 
None but you dare stand between 
Death and baby, Imogene. 



50 

Baby's safe, but where is she? 

Hoverning 'twixt life and death, 
Bruised and bleeding frightfully. 

Children scream and hold their breath; 
Those who hated her are seen, 
Crying over Imogene. 
Imogene, 
What kind angel stepped between 
You and death, O, Imogene? 

She had flowers as she lay, 

Such as she had never seen; 
Comforts, smiles, and love that they 

Showered on helpless Imogene. 
When she went to school again 
She had friends in plenty then. 

Imogene, 
You are treated like a queen; 
Happy, happy, Imogene! 



51 



At the Mourner's Bench. 



Dear Lord forgive, 
It was a woeful sin I know 

— Almost a crime — 
And yet I scarce could feel it so. 

"We sorrowing knelt 
Around the mourner's bench each night, 

Troubled at heart, 
Pleading forgiveness, seeking light. 

A penitent 
So near to me knelt Constantine 

That I could feel 
His heart beat in respone to mine. 

I could not see 
My sins; I could not lisp one word 

Of anxious prayer, 
Nor beg forgiveness of the Lord. 

I only heard 
Love's music far away — caught gleams 

Of visions sweet 
Composite of my happiest dreams, 
Dear Lord forgive. 



52 



Which One Shall it be ? 



Marks one, two, and three 

Which one shall it be? 
In choosing be sure to choose well, 
You're playing for keeps sister Nell; 

This one of the three? 

This then it shall be. 



You seem to look down 
With a woe-begone frown 

As though disappointed and vexed. 

Not this one you wished but the next? 
This one it must be, 
This one of the three. 



There's many a one 

Similarly has done, 
Has hopelessly settled her fate 
Then espied the mistake when too late; 

So sadly mistaken 

Some lout has been taken, 



53 

For worse, not for better, 

And galls like a fetter 
When a gem standing next could be had 
For the choosing — too bad! yes too bad! 

But the draw has been made 

The price must be paid. 



54 



Power. 



And O, whene'er I think, 
How frail the thread which binds that future life 

with this, 
How thin the film between us and death's dark abyss, 
'Twould make me start and shrink, 



But that I know there's One, 
Who will not let, by chance, a soul pass out of sight, 
However rich or poor, unlearned, or erudite, 

Until his work is done. 



And though the thread seems slight 
To human eyes, 'tis doubly strong, as iron bands, 
And nothing need we fear, if held within His hands, 

And strengthened by His might. 



55 



A Boy's Fun. 



(A Waterscape.) 

Oh there's barl's and barl's and barl's of fun, 
Down on the banks of Beaver Run! 
You can claw around in the squashy clay- 
Like turtles do on a summer day 
And make haystacks and sweetheart's rings, 
'Dobe houses and piles of things. 



And if you wear your oldest clothes 
And take some lunch, why goodness knows! 
You kin saunter home as late as five 
And not expect to be skinned alive! 
You kin throw a log right in the stream 
And set on it an' play or dream 



Yer a missionary sailin' away 

Way off to the land where the heathens stay. 

Or play yer one of a pirate crew 

Goin' to help the Cubans through. 

Though of course you're not; you're just in fun; 

But with the water a spatterun 



56 

Up in.yer face an' ears an' eyes, 
An' overhead, the bluest skies, 
Don't fret about such common truck 
As woodboxes an' bad boy luck. 
An' lickuns that you'll never git; 
Hang on to fun; yer sure of it. 
Such summer days ain't always found 
To waller in, the hull year round. 



You kin ketch the tadpoles in the sand 
And watch them wriggle from your hand 
To a flaxseed poltice of frog's eggs, 
And hear them mumble, "I'll have legs 
And be a frog some day; then ketch 
Me if you can." Oh it's nice to watch 



Yer face a grinnin' in the water. 
I know now why Pharoah's daughter 
Went down to the river bank so much 
Purtendun, she's carin' for Mosy, and such; 
For when the water's still and clear 
You kin see yourself as well, purt' near, 



As in the glass on our bureau; 

And where's the kid, I'd like to know, 

Who wouldn't give his fishin' hook 

Once in a while to steal a look 

In a lookin' glass, especially, 

If it makes him look far slicker'n he 



57' 

Ever is or was or expects to be. 
And when the water ripples, you see 
Yer shadder's gone, or back it comes 
All crook'd. It's fun to fling out crumbs 
To the greedy ducks, and watch 'm enjoy 
Themselves a scrappin' like a boy 
Who always wants the biggest slice 
Of everything there is that's nice. 

And sometimes too it's not bar] fun, 
When girls fling yer hats in Beaver Run, 
To jest spring up and grab 'm quick 
And purtend you'll douse 'm in the crick. 
Then how they squeal and squirm, and then, 
Promise they'll "Never do it agin!" 



And act so scared we let 'm go, 
Kind of wishin' within us, though, 
They'd come back and bother us some. 
And sure enough! soon back they come! 
So saucy like, as much as to say 
"We like to be scared -by you that way. 
Just scare us again, we dare you to! 
You're cowards, the whole batch of you!" 



And when the willow trees hang thick 

Over the edge of Beaver Crick, 

All matted in turrible shape 

With poison ivy and wild grape, 

All sorts of savage feelin's strike 

You through and through; and you'd jest like 



58 

To be an Injun, skulkin' about 

With, bow and arrow, peekin' out 

From between the leaves, to catch a glimpse 

And take the scalps of pale faced imps 

As they come rowin' down the stream, 

But you wouldn't hurt one — it's a scheme, 



And you're just playun — but just the same 
You hide in there and wait your game, 
With Christmas gun; and soon a pack 
Of lordly ducks, with their quacky-ty-clack 
Come sailin' proudly down the crick; 
You up an' raise the trigger quick 



And let er go with a "Whizz! and Bang!" 

And before one could say Yang-Tse-Kiang, 

You hear a squabble and wade in, 

Into water up to yer chin, 

And seize yer pale face, scalp and all, 

And hurry home in capital 



Delight; and prouder — Dear me suz! 
Than little Hiawatha wuz, 
When he had killed his first red deer 
And hauled her in and says "See here! 
How's this for venison?" And then 
They praise him over and over again. 



59 



Will you git praised, or hear m say, 
"The horrid thing! Take it away! 
The smelly thing, don't bring it here! 
Go wash yourself from ear to ear." 
It's rather discouragin' I say 
To be hammered at in that-air-way. 



We boys kin act 'zif we didn't care 
A straw fer people's praise — but there 
Is times when our insides just ache 
And burn for a word of praise, to make 
Us feel some one takes interest in us. 
But when they always go agin us 



Then we backslide, as people say 

In purtracted meetin' — turn away 

And care for nuthin' — for nuthin's better 

Than to always have a scold and fretter 

A jaggin' at you; now isn't it? 

The birds they twitter fit to split 



Though they have ornery spells and fret 

The same as people do I'll bet; 

And sometimes think that they'd enjoy 

Bein' a horse, or p'raps a boy. 

But let them try once, luggin' coal, 

And choppin' wood, and doin' a whole 



GO 



Lot of other things that nobody 
Ever thinks is much, and you'd soon see 
They'd wish that they wuz birds again 
A rustlin' for their worms. And when 
It's wash day, 'n all around the place 
Put on a sour milk funeral face 



And snarl or turn a feller down 
A sayin' "I'd go off and drown 
Myself;" instead you hurry quick 
Down to the banks of Beaver Crick 
Where snakes and toads and lizards all 
Come up and crowd around and crawl 



All over you; and you forget about 
It's bein' wash day, when the trout 
Jest fight for first place on yer hook 
And thousand legged worms they look 
That tickled to see you. Oh there's fun- 
Jest barl's of it, on Beaver Run. 



61 



The Sigh of the Civilized Navajo. 



Leave the Navajo content 
In his native element. 

Free to wander in the canons 

In the canons, tall and grand, 
Chiseled out by nature's hand, 

With the pines for his companions. 



Can the coyote change its color? 
Can the quail turn water gull? or 

Can the white bear thrive in other 

Than his native haunts of snow? 
Neither can the Navajo 

Imitate his pale faced brother, 



NOTE— At the time of writing this, all attempts at civilizing the 
Navajo had been in vain. When educated he invariab- 
ly returned again to his camp fire and blanket. 



62 



Change its habitat and thrive 

To the haunts where white men live. 

You would have our people be 

Learned in your arts and wise, 
Educate or civilize 

As you term term it meaningly. 



Navajo accepts the call 

Learns your arts in college hall, 

Yields to your religion too, 

But the music of the wildwood 
And the camp-fire of his childhood 

Thrills his fancy through and through. 



Much this Indian sees and hears 
That sounds strangely in his ears; 

How the spirit clothed anew 

May eternal life attain 

And he learns, somewhat with pain. 
That his dusky body too 



63 



Must be clothed in sombreness, 
Trim and plain the white man's dress 

Tis a penalty severe 

He accepts for sake of duty, 

It is not a thing of beauty, 
Not a spectacle to cheer. 



Secretly he sighs within 
"Oh for ease of moccasin! 

Then untrammeled would I glide 

O'er those places, which the deer 
Would refuse to go from fear, 

On the Rocky Mountain side. 



Let me feel upon my form 

Our Indian blanket soft and warm. 

'Tis a robe a king might wear 

Made by patient hand of woman 
Given to her chief her trueman; 

Woven in with colors rare, 



64 



Making harmony that few 
Other nations can outdo. 

Not a brush at one's command 
Can produce a work of art 
Not unless a noble heart 

And a genius guides the hand. 



Art as one harmonious whole 
Is the product of the soul. 

And this maiden Navajo 

An uncommon genius shows 
In the labor she bestows, 

Patiently as to and fro 



In and out with watchful eyes 
She her shuttle slowly plies. 

Greatest art grants little speed; 

Simple is this tool and rude, 
But a tiny bit of wood 

Or a piece of broken reed. 



65 



And her loom is crude enough; 
Two raw branches in the rough: 

These she twines her warp around 

— Like the spider, from the one 
To the other — when 'tis done, 

Seated low upon the ground, 



With her loom hung in a tree, 

She weaves her patterns carefully. 

Every nation small or great 

Has its emblem — we like you 
Chose the red, the white, and blue, 

Our ensign to decorate. 



Oft we're forced to imitate 
Nature in this robe of state. 

Purple tints the Columbine, 

Rose's blush shades off the red, 
Black is mourning for your dead. 

Need we for the warrior pine? 



66 



He is happy in his place, 
In the freedom of the chase, 

Where the winding mountain trail 

Stands untrod by tribe or band, 
Undisturbed by any hand 

Or the white man's iron rail." 



To the white man it was given, 
To arrange the stars of heaven 

Into groups and name them for us; 

Each revolving in its sphere. 

Andromeda sits chained here; 
There an Orion then a Taurus; 



Each one whirling on in space. 
What if one should fall from grace? 

Surely 'twould bring dire disaster. 
Nothing happens, 'Tis design, 
Each one whirls in perfect line, 

Guided by some unseen master. 



67 



'Tis our nature to adore 
The mysterious o'er and o'er 

Yet the scholar seeks to know 

More and more and worships less. 

But at times 'tis weariness 
To this Indian Navajo, 



Who delights in adoration, 
Longs for more imagination, 
For those days of long ago. 



Seems it not like sacrilege 
Thus to ruthlessly besiege 

Thus invade the starry treasures 
And their mysteries expose? 
None so learned but he knows 

That mysticism yieldeth pleasures. 



68 



Let me calmly shut my eyes 
To this science of the skies. 

In the dreamy twilight hour, 

As of old then would I lie 
Gazing upward on the sky; 

Overwhelmed by a power, 



Some strange secret happiness, 
Which no language can express; 

Then the great blue dome at even 
Was not aerial apparation 
But a filmly blue parition 

Separating earth and heaven. 



When the rain came spurting down 

On the earth scorched bare and brown, 

Whether softly from the sky 

Or in blinding floods it fell, 

We exclaimed " 'Tis well! Tis well!" 

Asked no questions, whence or why? 



69 



'Twas enough for us to know 
That it made the grasses grow, 

And the flowers in loveliness; 

That in kindness it was meant; 

Per this purpose it was sent 
Navajo to please and bless. 



But that simple faith I cherished 
And my childlike trust have perished; 

Since, amazingly, I learn 

That this pearly heaven sent lotion 
Is simply mist from off the ocean, 

And to such it must return. 



That the lightning which was riven 
Through the blackness of the heaven 

And the thunder's deafening peal 

Are not warnings from above 
— Man can fear as well as love — 

Are no longer an appeal 



70 



To the conscience or the soul. 
But a force which men control 

Known as electricity. 

I would reverence regain 
But I call to it in vain 

It responds not to my plea. 



Faith is proof of things unseen 
But this science stands between. 



I have seen the white man pose 
As a lover, yes propose, 

With a passion overflowing, 

To a maiden fair and pale 
As the daisy in the vale 

Or the mountain lily growing 

In the shadow of the bushes 
Where the San Juan madly rushes 



71 



Onward bearing rock and tree, 

Bursting from the mountain side 
Into chasms deep and wide 

Starting westward toward the sea. 



They whose vows of love were plighted 
At the altar were united, 

Vowing to be true forever; 

Let come whatsoever may 
They would cherish ev'n obey, 

Until death the tie should sever. 



But how weak is man's intent; 
Burning passion soon is spent. 

Wise indeed is he who can 

Draw the line which separtes 
The desires which love creates 

From mere fancy in a man. 

One is passion that allures; 
One the love that long endures. 



72 



Two short seasons passed and then 

Wearied with his palefaced bride, 
Longingly the white man sighed 

For his freedom once again; 



And ere long he's separated 

From the one with whom he mated. 

And your law of marriage under 

Which two souls were made as one 
By another is undone, 

Which as quickly parts asunder. 

Strange, the prisoner set free 
Seeks again captivity! 



You may cry "Unclean! Unclean!" 

Raise our voice in loud decree 
'Gainst our base polygamy; 

Counsel oft with sorry mien. 



73 



Pray you take a peep within 
At your own heart's secret sin. 

You're strange horsemen I attest, 

Tandem fashion suits your pride ; 
Solemnly bride follows bride: 

Horrors! we drive ours abreast. 



Which is worse polygamy, 
Or your bride tandigamy? 

Strange this action of the heart! 

Woman with her cunning can 
Too, be false as any man. 

I have seen her act her part 



Man's affections to decoy. 
These she handles as a toy, 

Wounds him next with deep incision, 
Makes a quick atonement then 
But to torture him again 

With a cast off cold derision, 



74 



Leaving him in sorry plight, 
When another hoves in sight. 



Is your civilization worth 

All the freedom you have lost, 
All the sacrifice it cost? 

Yes, you say and send me forth 



To the heathen Navajo. 

What means heathen I would know? 

Should our God be reverenced less 
Who reveals to us our sin, 
Gives us life and stirs within, 

Prayer and praise and consciousness 



Of our duty to our brother? 
Is this Mighty Spirit other 

Than the Being Who has planned 

Every other thing of earth? 
Or were Indians given birth 

Under other system, and, 



75 



Though, we pray direct above 
To our God in trust and love 

Must our prayers unheard remain? 
Some day in the Spirit land 
You will surely understand. 

If perchance we meet again 



In those happy hunting grounds, 
Where the buffalo abounds, 

And in plenty roam the deer, 

You and I shall hunt together 
In the haze of autumn weather 

Where no game laws interfere. 



Then I doubt not you will know 
Why the simple Navajo 

Dearly loves his freedom; and 

Doubtless in those future days 
I shall then appreciate 

Your many mansions, dazzling, grand, 



76 



.mgels with the gilded wing, 

The heavenly songs those angels sing, 

Glittering streets and golden stairs. 

But at present spare me these 

Glorifying luxuries, 
Leave to me our Indian prayers; 



Let me be an Indian still, 
Surely it was heaven's wilL 



You would have him learn to scorn 
His esteemed environment; 
Leave the camp fire and the tent 

Where the Navajo was born; 



With its carpet soft and clean, 
Made of flowers and grasses green, 

Freshened by the air and light 

Creeping in the door each day, 
Driving gloom and death away. 

Nature's maid with all her might, 



77 



Shines and labors dextrously 
Till the stench and odors flee. 

Then when summer days have gone 

And the frost, which chills the morn 
Nips the tassels of the corn, 

And the winter time draws on 



Then he leaves the mountain side 
"With his family to reside 

In the valley's warmer lands 

Where the bright and sunny rays 
Shining through the winter days 

Melts the snowflakes on the sands. 



There in comfort they remain 
Till the spring returns again. 

Care sits lightly, he has pleasure — 

Small the earthly care of those 
On whom circumstance bestows 

This world's goods in scanty measure. 



78 



He who is with plenty blest, 
Often lacks in peace and rest, 

Knows but sleepless nights of pain. 
With the worry and the fret 
That abundance brings him, yet 

Man will leave all else to gain 



Wealth's alluring glittering goal, 
Even barter off his soul. 



And the freedom of the range 

And the snowcapped peaks which stand, 

Overlooking all the land, 
You would have him this exchange 



For a narrow plot of ground— 
A few acres circled round 

By close neighbors — and four walls 
Carpeted and screened within 
Till no sunlight ventures in. 

This the white man probably calls 



79 



Home — a hard earned luxury. 
Surely irksome it would be 

To his dusky Indian brother. 

Can the coyote change his color? 

Can the quail turn water gull? or 
Can the white bear thrive in other 



Than his native haunts of snow? 
Blame not then the Navajo; 

He is a distinct creation 

Would your conscientious skill 
Seek to change old nature's will? 

Spare him this your civilization 



Which is yours, O spare him this; 
When his freedom in his bliss. 

Little good can emanate 

From a life bound fast by chain 
Longing to be free again, 

Though in knowledge it is great. 



80 



Leave him then unlearned if this 
Prove his highest happiness. 

Let him wander in the mountains 
And pursue the nimble deer 
Growing scarcer every year; 

Free to watch the play of fountains; 



Gather ripened August berries; 
Gorge his appetite with cherries, 

Which provide his autumn feast. 

These grow on the sheltered side 
Of the mountainous Divide, 

Where the rivers flowing east 



And flowing west into the sea, 
Rise in close proximity. 

Here the roses bloom in bowers; 

Shaded well their color grows 
Brighter than the pink of those 

On the prairie. Other flowers 



81 



With their fragrance charm the spot. 
Here the blue forget-me-not, 

Which the maiden most admires, 
In the presence of the red 
Flaming star flower bows its head 

And with modesty retires. 



And the glorious Columbine 
Its lavender and white combine. 



He enjoys the gullied canon 

With its echoes wierd and free; 

Hidden in its depths, there he 
Needs no gibbering companion; 



In the quiet solitude 
Nature best is understood. 

High those walls of stone and granite 
Where the Mancos roars between; 
And so narrow the ravine 

That a common bridge would span it: 



82 



And a skylight, tinged with, blue, 
Dimly lights the passage through 

Where the river cuts its way 

Over beds of yellow sand. 
In this portion of the land, 

Given the Ute, he loves to stray. 



Neighboring Ute and Navajo 
No more draw the deadly bow. 

Though he loves the Mancos canon 

"With its cliff and tower and dome, 
Where the eagle builds her home 

And the deer with his companion 



In the cool of evening shade 
On the mesa promenade, 

Yet he tastes not of the water, 

For he's oftentimes been told 
Of a certain legend old, 

How, with ignominious slaughter, 



83 



Long ago a certain race, 

Hard were driven from their place. 

High up o'er the water's edge 

They had builded for themselves 
Homes upon those cliffs or shelves 
Underneath a sandstone ledge, 



Striped with ochre, white and gray- 
Clear and bright are these today. 

This afforded them a cover 

For the walls of their domain, 
Some of which there yet remain 

And are richly frescoed over 



With gay colorings inside. 
Many families could reside 

There together, safe from foes 

So the thought — for they whose might 
Conquered, always claimed first right- 
So it is the story goes. 



84 



In this city of the past, 

Whose remains are crumbling fast 

There were towers square and rounded 
There were portholes to behold 
Approaching fees, resembling old,- 

Feudal castles that were founded 



Many centuries ago. 

While they slept, some wily foe 

Scaled these natural heights of stone 
Their position to obtain — 
The inhabitants were slain 

And their mangled bodies thrown 



In the river; and the stains 

Of their life blood still remains. 

And the odors still arise 

And today the Indian hears 
Echoing through the distant years 

Harrowing groans and piercing cries. 



85 



True sometimes the Navajo's 
Hungry, for the winter's snows 

On the range and reservation 
Often long and heavy lie; 
Then his sheep and cattle die 

From exposure and starvation. 



Or the summer dought contiues 
Then it is the very sinews 

Dry away. And since the bison 
Is no longer to be found 
In the Rockies roaming round. 

Low beneath the dim horizon 



Of the distant mountain crest 
Oft the sun has sunk to rest 

When the Indian is seen 

Tramping homeward from the chase 
With a sorry downcast face; 

For his appetite, though keen, 



86 



Must unsatisfied remain. 

This day's hunt has been in vain 

But tomorrow's may bring more 

Than his present needs demand; 
Then he spends with lavish hand 

Laying little by in store 



Future comforts to secure. 
Which is harder to endure, 

Appetite unsatisfied, 

Craving gnawing hunger, or 
Absence of a relish for 

Things abundantly supplied? 



Richest viands, tempting things 
Fit for appetites of kings? 

What is food and what is station? 

What is raiment? What is wealth? 

Y/ithout appetite or health? 
Though our tribal reservation 



87 



Part consists of level plains, 
Sandy, where it seldom rains- 
Little rain is takes to nourish 

Western plants upon the sand 
Where the sage brush dots the land, 
Where the spiny cactii flourish, 



And the waxy soap plants bloom- 
Yet he there has elbow room, 

Room to live and breathe, thank heaven! 
This small corner of the earth, 
Which to you was little worth, 

By your government was given 



With a condescending grace 
Out of pity for our race. 

Like a present which some donor 
Gives with kind munificence, 
Purchased with the stolen pence 

From the pocket of the owner. 



88 



Now the rightful owner goes 
A mendicant in beggar's clothes, 

A veritable refugee. 

'Twas a charity affair; 

Such bestowals are not rare. 
Is this then the charity 



You would have us keep in mind, 
Suffering long and ever kind? 



It is true the Indian knows 

How to use and where to find 
Healing herbs of every kind, 

Every shrub that near him grows; 



Yet with all his natural skill, 
Death the inevitable will 

Often at his knowledge mock; 

Often he with cool demand 
Will his wigwam enter and 

Claim the bravest of the flock. 



89 



Where are all those Indian bands, 
First possessors of these lands? 

Gone before your civilization. 

Chickasaws and Creeks have vanished; 

Seminoles and Sacs are banished. 
We are passing as a nation, 



Leave to us our Indian ways — 
Free, these few remaining days. 



90 



Let the Children Play. 



Let the children play. 
The little children laugh and shout and romp the 

livelong day: 
For some, too soon, the graver cares of other years 

will come 
And strike the careless freedom down the childish 

laughter dumb; 
When buoyancy of youth to stern reality gives way 

Then let the children play. 



Let 'the children play. 
Let them wander in the woodlands green and listen 

to the lay 
Of warbling, twittering, songsters flitting through the 

leafy trees, 
Making glad the very air with soul-inspiring 

melodies; 
That must sweetly ring within the ears until the 

judgment day, 

Then let the children play. 



91 

Let the children play. 
Lay not too many grievances and sorrows in their 

way; 
For burdens of the spirit weighing, grinding, like a 

stone, 
May crush the spark of hopefulness; 'tis not the 

flesh alone 
Succumbs to rank oppressiveness — the heart may 

wear away — 

Then let the children play. 



Let the children play, 
And cultivate a cheeriness for what is sadder pray 
Than a hopeless soul dispirited, hard struggling 

to the last 
Against some bygone gloominess that binds the spirit 

fast- 
Despairingly existing, nagging through life's weary 

way? 

Then let the children play. 



Let the children play. 
Let them ramble in the meadows and imbibe the 

radiant ray 
Of summer sunbeams straight from heaven, a beam 

from God's own lamp, 
Which lightens soul and body dispersing chills and 

damp; 
A timely sure preventative that wards disease away. 

Then let the children play. 



92 

Let the children play. 
Time passes rapidly along and the years are few 

till they 
Must step into the harness in the place of you and I; 
If youth be gladdened properly they'll bravely occupy 
The place thus assigned them, their call in life obey. 

Then let the children play. 



Let the children play. 
Though our years have been most peaceful yet our 

hair is turning gray: 
And a wave from youth affects us as nothing ever 

can, 
As some fairies wand had touched us and made us 

young again, 
And our gloominess is banished by the children's 

laugh so gay. 

Then let the children play. 



93 



Deacon Harvey and His Dream. 



Old Deacon Harvey was a man well known the 

country round 
As being righteous, in his way, as any to be found. 
A sanctimonious- duty he was never known to shirk, 
He could rule a stiffnecked session or perform the 

dirty work, 



Such as makin' fires or lighting if the chore boy 
were away, 

Or routing shaky members, who refused to walk his 
way. 

And though his outward piety with burnished splend- 
or shone, 

He too, like most of us, had faults, it wasn't best to 
own. 



His being a blue-stockinger made him well satisfied; 
That such his ancestors had been, to mention was his 

pride. 
And they had done his thinking, which, perhaps upon 

the whole, 
Accounted for his meagreness and narrowness of 

soul. 



94 

But lie never once suspected, that this very self-same 

thing, 
Might tally one against him in the day of reckoning. 
He always held the rudder of the gospel ship of state, 
And steered as no one else could do (he thought) to 

heaven straight. 



And woe betide the minister, who didn't let him do it, 
'Twas more than barely possible he'd have a chance 

to rue it; 
He might as well cast anchor, drop his mantle then 

and there, 
Feign consumption or prostration and seek a balmier 

air. 



But the waywardness of neighbors, the Deacon did 
declare 

Had plowed some furrows in his face and silvered 
o'er his hair. 

Sandy Green had stole his apples, he was deadly cer- 
tain of it 

And he'd give him legal punishment but he somehow 
couldn't prove it. 



Elam Crow was soaked in whiskey — fairly pickled — 

and he said 
"Surely this world were better off if Elam Crow were 

dead." 



95 

And so the deacon prayed and prayed in this wise 
morn and night, 

"Lord urge them to repent by thy spirit's sword of 
of might; 

If they refuse then speed them to their fiery desti- 
nation 

Before their evil ways corrupt the rising generation." 



One night he slept and dreamed a guardian angel he 

was sent, 
To hover o'er the thought of men and judge of their 

intent. 
His spirit soon was watching o'er the thoughts of 

Sandy Green 
Which wandered thus, "That theft of mine was 

despicably mean; 



Though the deacon has abundance beyond what he 

may need, 
Yet I would not for myself alone have done that 

sneaking deed, 
But I could not see my wife and children starving 

day by day 
And wholesome food in plenty going to waste across 

the way. 
Oh if ever I am prospered with something by in store, 
I swear that not a hungry soul shall ever pass my 

door." 



96 

Then the Deacon's spirit shifted to the thoughts of 

Elam Crow, 
Who sober, by the embers of his dying fire croutched 

low. 
In agony of spirit he groaned, "Too late! Too late! 
Can a drunkard's doom in another world compare 

with his earthly fate? 
If so I pray one favor may be granted unto me. 
Give me annihilation there not immortality. 



Could I have seen the future, the path that I should 

go, 
Not all the powers of darkness could have tempted 

me I know. 
When the habit seemed a growing and I saw that it 

was wrong 
I might have then reformed but I couldn't pass along. 



But a jovial gay companion of some low infernal 

slum 
Stood with open heart and outstretched arms a beck- 
oning me to come. 
I've a wasted life to offer and if any mercy's shown 
'Twill not be through my merits but the good of 
heaven alone." 



Then the deacon roused from slumber with troubled 

conscience lay; 
Some new. found questions like to these perplexed 

him day by day. 



97 

Of the actual pangs of hunger little do I realize, 
One must feel its cruel gnawings to fully sympathize; 
But to see starvation daily waisting one's own kith 

and kin 
And relive them, yes by stealing, would scarcely seem 

a sin. 



Yet I, while blessed with plenty, have allowed the 

worthy poor 
To be driven on to theft perhaps, or hungry pass my 

door. 
What if I had been surrounded as Elam Crow with 

vice. 
Temptations more than I could bear and evils that 

entice? 



And with half the anxious training and example I 

have seen, 
He might have been a nobler man by far than I have 

been. 
And his plea of mere unworthiness may gain him 

entrance in, 
As passport, to that country, rid of whisky, rum and 

sin: 



While they who by selfrighteousness and deeds will 

hope to gain 
A sure and swift admittance, may howl Lord! Lord! 

in vain. 



98 

If I have walked more steady who deserves the credit 

pray? 
I have followed in the footsteps of my father's much 

as they. 



And as to saint and sinner, Oh, it's hard to judge 
between; 

I'll not attempt the arduous task, but sweep my own 
hearth clean. 

Yes it's difficult to break the bonds of our environ- 
ment, 

And go a different pilgrimage from what our father's 
went. 

It is ours to lift the fallen, help the tempted and the 
tried, 

And leave their final judgment to One better qualified. 



99 



Struggles. 



I loitered in a meadow near 

A cool and quiet stream, 
Whose waters were as pure and clear 

As a mirror's crystal gleam. 



I flung in pebbles as I passed 

— On idleness intent — 
The mirror's gleam was overcast 

Thereby with sediment. 



And as the stream and filth contend 

First honors to obtain 
Behold the particles descend 

And all is clear again! 



And so I thought, how like is this 
To a pure and noble life, 

That banishes the avarice 
The envyings and the strife. 



100 

When life seems one unbroken joy 
Then 'bold dissemblers come, 

To raise aversions and destroy 
Our equilibrium. 



And then the struggle sore begins; 

The contest is severe; 
But the nobler side of nature wins; 

And envyings disappear. 



101 



Keep up Courage Jim. 

There's one bit of admonishment, as you life's 

journey make, 
That I would give, and it is this: Whate'er 

you undertake, 
Let soul and bone and fibre pursue it with 

a vim, 
Don't halt at every corner, but 

Keep up courage Jim. 



If all the race were headlong cast into life's 

foaming sea, 
While some will sink, yet all possessed with 

proper energy 
Will to the surface rise: and you will surely 

rise and swim 
And gain firm footing on the shore if you 

Keep up courage Jim. 



102 

If not unlike the average man you'll one day 

want a wife, 
To share the joys and miseries that fall to you 

in life. 
When you have made selection, don't simper 

round so grim, 
And threaten if your case goes wrong, just 

Keep up courage Jim. 



Such threatenings show a vacuum where brain 

stuff ought to be; 
That you' are some how lacking she soon must 

plainly see: 
Cheer up, present your cause in words, fit, 

business-like, and trim; 
Don't be ashamed of honest love and 

Keep up courage Jim. 



Should you the public pastures be allowed to 
revel in, 

Then some will fawn and flatter your con- 
fidence to win; 

Be true to your convictions, don't cater to 
each whim, 

Honor your country and your flag and 
Keep up courage Jim. 



103 

When your step grows less elastic, Ah then! 

you're growing old; 
Don't huddle in some corner and fume, and 

fret and scold; 
Put on a smart appearance, and though your 

eyes be dim 
You'll brave off death the longer, if you 

Keep up courage Jim. 



104 



Fossil. 



Oh foolish man to seek to know at once 
Our secret hidden life long closed in death, 
When nature travailed many thousand years 
With unabated jmergy to give us breath. 



Sometimes you'll find us in the glacial drift, 
Again calcareous rocks will harbor me; 
In shales a truer impress you will find; 
While briny depths protect us in the sea. 



By company he keeps so man is known, 
So ask no more for we are judged likewise; 
Delights you'll find by searching for yourself, 
My telling you would only steal your prize. 



105 



Submission. 



It takes a rare beneficence 

To labor on from year to year, 
In hope of final recompense, 

Upon some scheme or project dear, 
And then in patience to submit 

(Some would protest and rage outright) 
While others reap the benefit 

Or confiscate your copyright. 



A bravery it requires to stand 

Calmly upon some Nebo's height, 
While others occupy the land 

Spread out before your longing sight, 
While you, who journeyed all the way, 

May not approach the cherished spot— 
Ah then! 'tis meekness to obey 

Implicity and murmur not. 



106 



Waiting, 



We plant the tiny apple shoot 

— A sprig of value rare — 
Then prune and dig about the root 

And tend with proper care. 
'Tis not the labor we bestow 

Annoys us — toil is treasure — 
But waiting for the fruit to grow, 

Ah! that is doubtful pleasure. 



Love promises eternal bliss 

— No joy but has some sorrow — 
Much present happiness we miss 

By sighing for tomorrow. 
Blessings we scarce can see or rate, 

Waiting the promised day; 
The hardest thing to tolerate 

Of all, is the delay. 



107 

March sunshine heralds in the spring, 

The heart a welcome speaks; 
A storm comes on o'erpowering, 

The blizzard howls and shrieks. 
Spring early pays the forfeiture; 

Impatiently we sigh; 
These days are harder to endure 

Than all the months gone by. 



108 



A Better Day Ahead. 

One day seems illy doomed above the rest; 

The fates appear to frown; 
As though by some strange demon half 
possessed 

Things tumble upside down. 
With plans contraried thus we would despair 

With hopeful yearnings dead, 
But that the eve's prophetic signs bid fair 

For better days ahead. 



The August corn, whose ears hung heavily, 

Lo! in a single night 
Is made an object pitiful to see 

By early frost and blight. 
Our dreams of luxury have swiftly flown; 

And we indeed would dread 
The want in store, but that the past has shown 

Us better days ahead. 



109 

The cold December blizzards whizz and blow 

With fury in our face; 
Ths sky is but a murky mass of snow; 

And, in its chill embrace, 
We well might cringe in horror of the cold 

But that we know, instead, 
The sun will shine again and we'll behold 

A better day ahead. 



The country is upset with strife and men 
Are hurrying to and fro; 

That old foment which reappears again 

Bespeaks a scene of woe. 
Such mixed affairs doth turbulence portend; 

Yet we through hope are led 
A better state of things to apprehend, 

Yes better days ahead. 



110 



Sympathy. 



How dependent all things be, 
Flowers and grass upon the rain; 
Then in turn the showers again 

Bring their pearldrops from the sea. 



Vegetation meagerly 
Flourishes in barren ground, 
Till she flings her leaves around 

Then abundance we can see. 



May our life-work also be 

Laboring for the common good 
Of a suffering brotherhood 

With a magnanimity. 



With our souls in unison; 
And our life-pulse keeping pace, 
Throbbing, pitying for our race 

Ceasing not till life is done. 



Ill 

Do we hear yet unapeased 
Hunger's piteous wailing plea? 
We must starve from sympathy 

Till that hunger's power be eased. 



112 



Misunderstood. 



A heart in solitude 
With loneliness consumes itself: 

No sharer or recipient 
To take or give: by constant drips 
The stoutest heart must soon be spent 
— Alone misunderstood. 



'Often we fondly brood 
O'er unforgiven wrongs: a word 

Might have removed them long ago. 
Sometimes 'tis nobleness to bear 
In silence all alone — not so 
When we're misunderstood. 



113 



Our Country. 

When others wave the beckoning hand, 
And "Forward March!" the orders cry, 

As theirs it were to give command, 
Ours to obediently comply, 

Defiantly our hearts rebel, 

Because we love our country well. 



When cannons boom and banners fly, 
When singers sing and bands peal forth, 

When all for excellency vie 
In honor of our nation's birth, 

We feel our patriotism swell; 

Yes then we love our country well. 



When others trample in the dust 
The flag our fathers' died to raise, 

And then ignore with cold distrust 
Our country's principles and ways, 

In vain we strive our wrath to quell; 

Yes then we love our country well. 



114 

When be behold in summer time 
The corn fields shimmering in the sun, 

And golden grain in healthy prime 
Waiting the harvest drawing on, 

Knowing that we in these excel 

Thankful we love our country well. 



While others bow to potentate 

(Born servile such they must remain) 

We humble or illiterate 

May to a higher sphere attain. 

Upon these merits we may dwell 

Because we love our country well. 



Land of prosperity, divine 

Long may thy ensign ride the gale; 
May thy effulgence ne'er decline 

Thy freedom's spirit long prevail. 
Though love be still invincible 
We love our country none too welL 



115 



Mercies. 



When nuthin' looks right to your eyes, 

Jest think of Solomon the Wise, 

Of seven hundred mother-in-laws 

(As Browning calls 'em "Old Cat Claws") 

A swoopin' down in cold array 

With band boxes, plannin' to stay 

Six months: your troubles don't amount 

To anything: Pshaw! they don't count. 



116 



Art. 



Suite often finest statuaries fill 

The smallest most obscure cathedral niches; 
In finest tapestries the greatest skill 

Is manifested in the smallest stitches. 



117 



Stimulation. 



Madly pursuing with destruction's speed, 

A vain yet idolized ambition, I 

Beheld an arrow shooting through the air 

Tipped with the anaesthetic of despair. 

In vain I made endeavor to evade 

Its ruthless aim, it pierced me then and there. 

I fell asphyxiated by the sting 

And had no care to rise for all was dark. 

Pride came and bathed my wound and bade me 

rise, 
But failed to arouse me from my lethargy; 
Fame poured her ointment in of flattery. 
And whispered "Up press on and I am yours;" 
Then duty came and said in chilling tones 
"Inert is he who heeds not my commands 
Arouse to action and your wound is healed." 
But none of these availed I slumbered on. 
Then came a figure almost crushed with care, 
And on her breast was scarred in letters bright, 
— Seared by the iron of affliction — this 
"The Woes of Suffering Humanity." 
She knelt and fervently did clasp my hand 



118 

And dropped one silent tear upon the wound. 
At once it thrilled my being through and 

through. 
Awakening, I arose and quickly grasped 
The figure in one long and fond embrace, 
Saying, the power was yours to snatch me from 
That somnolence which ends in certain death; 
Henceforth the cause you represent is mine, 
Then I pursued ambition once again 
No longer overwhelmed by despair. 



119 



A ^Problem. 



Lor' bless your soul no I haint never tried 

This gettin' married but I'm satisfied 

That it's the only way'n, one ort to when 

She can: but Lor' the scarcity of men! 

Out West they're thick; the census men declare 

They's two and a half to every woman there. 

I'll go and see if I can't git that half 

A man — it's better'n none at all — don't laugh 

It's serious; and though I haint yet tried 

This marryin', it's best I'm satisfied. 



120 



You can't give much in money? then 
Just laugh and laugh and laugh again, 
And split your sides — a hearty laugh 
Will do a heap more good, by half, 
In this old world, than giving cash 
Gold in comparison is trash. 



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